Detention Don
by theallbadhat
Summary: Don goes back to his old high school to lecture about a career in the FBI. He finds that he may not have changed as much as he thought. Fluff. If you read the first story, start on chapter 5 for next story in the series.
1. Freshmen Friday

Disclaimer: I own no rights to the characters or the show of Numb3rs.

"Eppes"

Don was sitting at his desk, going through a hundred different file papers, trying to make sense of handwritten notes in the margin, half of them his own.

He looked behind his shoulder at Marrick, who was impatiently standing at the entrance to Don's work space.

"Need you a moment, Eppes"

Marrick then went back into his office, sitting down with an air of expectancy.

Don gave a loud sigh, dumped the papers on his desk, and walked slowly to Marrick's office. _One moment_ usually meant the time it would take Marrick to tell Don the _many-houred_ job he expected Don to perform. With paperwork organized into piles on his desk, the last thing Don needed was to give up this _moment_ of his time.

"Yeah" he said as he entered Marrick's office, looking around for a spare space to sit. He realized that Marrick had his share of paperwork, as even the small chair he usually offered was loaded with books.

"Don", Marrick started, "we are trying to establish better community relations with the young kids in LA, you know community outreach, the baseball games we have- in other words, keeping up with the required number of recruits. Someone's made the brilliant suggestion of getting the recruits interested young-before college- and with most high schools having career days, suggested we send agents out to discuss the advantages of the Bureau. I suggested you would be a good choice for a trial run."

Don looked at Marrick with a look of utter disbelief. Me, he thought, the detention-hall kid, talking to a bunch of high school students like I could ever be any kind of example their teachers would want within two city blocks of their school. No, he though, make that two city miles.

"Well," Don said, "I really don't think I'm the best choice-

"Well.," Marrick interrupted, "Lucky for you I'm doing the thinking. And I thought the best place for you to begin would be your old high school. "

Don closed his eyes a second, then looked at Marrick. This, he thought, has to be a nightmare, and next thing I know I'll be naked in front of the high school baseball team holding nothing but my bat.

Fortunately for Don, he was able to show up at the entrance to his old high school fully clothed with bat nowhere in sight. He stood on the sidewalk leading to the school's entrance, looking at the front of the building, memories flooding his vision. The brick building itself looked the same, two large doors emblazoned with the faces of the founding fathers surrounded by hazy glass that still didn't look possible to clean. On either side of the doors, two separate wings jutted out, one leading to the right and the other to the left. The building was three stories tall, with opaque windows looking down at the nervous and anxious agent. Don swallowed, then he looked at the flag waving at the top of a pole centered in the sidewalk before him.

"I can do this" he said to himself.

He had thought the words were spoken in his head, but the giggles of two high school girls passing him with sideways glances informed him that he had spoken out loud.

Don sighed.

His adult love life was bad enough without him having to experience the awkward embarrassment of teenage girls laughing at him, which didn't happen too much when he was a teenager but was sure to occur now that he was an old man in a suit.

_I've become the essential geek,_ he thought, careful to keep the words as thoughts in his head as another group of girls passed by him, glancing at his suit and giving him the stares he remembered _other guys_ got in high school, but not Don, not cool Don.

Don had to admit that his former image was the reason he did not want to be back here, talking to a bunch of high school kids whose idea of cool- _did they even still use that word?-_ was probably so different from what he remembered. And what he remembered had been good memories for him, a time in his life when everything seemed to be going his way- the parties, the girls, his friends, baseball. Even Charlie's brilliant mind had not been able to taint the image he had in high school, what Springsteen referred so eloquently as Glory Days- and Don wanted to keep those memories that way, with full glory.

But coming here now- Don's memories might fade and be replaced by this new experience, of not belonging here and having groups of kids look at him- like, well, the essential geek. And Don didn't want his last memories of this place to be about him being a geek- he wanted his old memories, the ones that made him feel that maybe he was alright during the times when Charlie started talking and Don got lost in trying to understand, so that he thought about the one area in which he had excelled where Charlie hadn't- the social life at a time in life it was so, so important to excel in.

And now he was here, about to ruin the one thing he had been better at, so that a bunch of high school kids who would never join the FBI could here about his boring paperwork and sneer at his uncool suit and give him the look that _other kids got_ but not Don.

Don sighed again.

He looked around and noticed that there were no longer any students entering the building.

He was standing by himself, still looking up at the flag on top of the pole. He shrugged his shoulders, readjusted his tie, and started towards the building's entrance.

If I were a freshman on Freshman Friday, Don thought, I couldn't feel any worse.


	2. Trip Up Memory Lane

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Numb3rs or have any rights to them.

After being buzzed in, Don entered the front door of the school and went up a set of stairs directly in front of the door, turning left at the top of the stairs. Here he found the main office, which he easily navigated past, and then went through a small hall to his right, entering the office of the principal, prior experiences easily guiding him.

He looked around the room. Everything seemed to have changed. First, he noticed that the ugly, psychedelic, 1970s- reject orange, which had inundated itself into every school he had ever seen in his life, was now replaced with subtle earth tones. There in front of him was a small, cherry wood desk with a computer- used to be typewriter- sitting on the right top of the desk. A row of modern metal cabinets- to the right of and behind the desk- replaced the worn, broken wooden cabinets of his high school days, while two comfortable couches lined the walls behind him and to his left, a mocking reminder of the three hard, plastic chairs that he and his friends had to uncomfortably sit in for hours. In the wall behind the desk was a new wooden door with a single panel of glass, the words "Principal Rooney" spelled out in cheap, plastic black lettering.

Rooney? Rooney! Couldn't be, Don thought, but, then again, the guy always had a unique talent for kissing ass.

Just then, a tall, blonde woman in her early forties entered the room. Her mind seemed absorbed with the file she held in front of her, as she placed her back to Don and slowly leaned over one of the drawers set into the bottom of the furthest file cabinet. Don was shocked that he recognized the secretary as the same one he'd had some twenty years before, when he had been an observant eighteen-year old.

Miss Sloane- probably Misses Somebody now- was the only good thing about visiting the principal's office. Having been hired his senior year, the long legs and perfectly formed ass of the twenty-two-year-old Sloane had kept the eyes of a teenage Don Eppes occupied for hours at a time, while the then-principal had made Don- "that young punk"- wait for his punishment. The administrator's thinking had been that the waiting would make Don nervous and think twice about visiting again. In a way, the principal's plan had worked; after 30 minutes of full observation of Miss Sloane's "filing" skills, Don thought twice- more than twice- about visiting the principal's office. And so it was that Don's parents and teachers considered his senior year his worst. Don, however, believed it to be his best.

Older women, he had learned, are extremely hot.

Now, a much older Don Eppes stood unmoving in front of the secretary's desk, pleased to have learned that some things about his high school had not changed. Having placed his sunglasses on upon entering the building- hoping to deflect any signs of fear on his face- Don allowed only his eyes to peer over the secretary's desk, while the rest of his body was still. Don's FBI training was not necessary for him to observe that the secretary had put on a few pounds, but he mentally noted that they were in all the right places. As the agent allowed his eyes a small trip down memory lane- and then back up again, and around a couple times more- he decided that if he were making a formal file on this suspect, the summary would be "Sloane- _she's got some thump in her trunk_".

"That has got to be Donny Eppes standing behind me", a voice suddenly chimed from the flock of blonde hair that flowed from the top of Sloane's backside.

Don became rigid, his eyes suddenly staring at the principal's door from across him.

Sloane stood up and turned toward Don, straightening the front of her blouse. Don could not help himself; his eyes immediately caught the movement and he found himself memorizing the way the loose silk of Sloane's blouse gently massaged down her bosom.

Ohhhh, Don moaned in his head, older women _are still hot._

"How could I ever forget", Sloane continued, "the feel of those eyes sliding around on my posterior". The secretary gave Don a stern look, and he responded with the decency to blush from head to neck. Seeing his embarrassment, Sloane grinned, her smile embellishing small laugh lines around her blue eyes, which sparkled in the dim fluorescent light of the office.

Then Sloane did something unexpected- she flitted her eyes briefly to Don's ring finger. It only took a few seconds, but Don returned the favor and was surprised to see that she was missing not only a ring on her left hand, but the tell-tale white band of skin that would indicate she had recently had one.

Quickly appreciating the situation as much as he had _Miss _Sloane's form, Don tilted his head down and looked over the rim of his glasses at the secretary, overtly letting his eyes ride up her legs to her chest, and then finally landing them directly on her eyes. Giving her his most-wicked grin, he replied "I have a couple other body parts I'd like to slide all over that posterior" – then he flexed his hands.

It was Sloane's turn to blush- but her blush reached her toes as she began to feel her body heating up. Before she could reply, an annoyed voice sounded from the doorway behind her-

"I suppose that's our most illustrious former student, Donny Eppes".

Ward Rooney stood in the doorway of his office, a scowl on his face as he looked between Don and Miss Sloane, correctly guessing that something had been passing between them.

Both Don and Miss Sloane reluctantly recovered themselves, Don again straightening up, and then Sloane formally replied to the man behind her, "This is _Special Agent_ Donald Eppes with the _Federal Bureau of Investigation_. He is here to give a speech for career day." She then brushed past Don- too close- and left the office. Don was left to face his old nemesis alone.

Don wasn't quite sure what to make of Rooney. The principal had been fresh out of college when he began teaching Don's junior year; he had been easy prey for Don and his sports friends, as they knew more about the machinations of high school than the still fresh Rooney had. By Don's senior year, however, Rooney had started to strike back- though, never successfully.

Assigned to oversee detention, Rooney came up with the 'clever' idea of nicknaming the students who were regular after-school visitors, justifying it by saying that the embarrassment would make them want to avoid detention, and therefore, behave. He had named one of Don's friends "Chester (can't pass the) Semester", because he had failed his junior year twice. Rooney addressed another friend as "Rob the Knob", as in 'dumb as a doorknob". When he got to Don, he couldn't come up with anything better than "Detention Don", laughingly telling Don that at the rate he was going, he'd still be serving detention well into his thirties.

Don and his friends took it in stride, as they viewed Rooney's attempts at getting even with them as amateur. That is, until Rooney came up with a name for Don's overweight pal Benny, as the teacher purposefully replaced the shy boy's name with the humiliating "Belly" each time he called roll during detention- and then during class, each time saying "Oops! Sorry- I can't imagine why I keep making that mistake" as he smirked at the unhappy teenager. The name caught on and Benny was soon at Don's house, tears in his eyes, unloading to Don that the name was making his senior year the worst one ever, as even teachers who liked him were starting to use the name. Angry that Rooney could hurt his friend so thoughtlessly, Don devised a plan to put a positive spin on the nicknames Rooney had handed out.

First, Don gathered his crew together, asking them to pool their allowances. He then went to the local sports shop and had each one of his friend's lettermen jackets emblazoned on the back with whichever individual nickname Rooney had assigned them. Next, Don and his friends took permanent markers to their t-shirts- as many as they owned; on the front, each one put his nickname, while on the back, they listed in a neat row all the nicknames Rooney had given them together. On top of that list, they wrote in big, black letters "Detention Dogs". Satisfied, they proudly agreed to wear their t-shirts everyday for the rest of the year. Don even managed to get the announcer of the sports games- a lovesick sophomore who was willing to do anything for the popular senior- to announce his friends as their nicknames whenever she was at the mike.

Suffice it to say that Rooney was not at all pleased. After a couple weeks of the teenagers' nickname flaunting, Rooney found that whenever he said "Belly" instead of Benny during roll, the other kids in class would give a small "whoop, whoop". And other students were purposefully getting detention, trying to get enough days in so they could be a "Dog", too, which doubled Rooney's after school workload, though his pay stayed the same. What infuriated him the most, though, was the smug smile on the face of Donny Eppes as he sat back in his seat and rubbed the front of his t-shirt, daring Rooney to complain about the him wearing the label he himself had bestowed upon the cocky senior.

It was during this first incident, senior year, that Ward Rooney decided he hated Don Eppes.

Now, Rooney was the principal of the school, and apparently still hated Don. He understood why Rooney had scowled at him before Miss Sloane had left the office, but couldn't figure out why he had directed- in just one look- so much malice toward his own secretary…

As Don entered Rooney's office, he mentally slapped himself on the forehead. He had forgotten that Rooney was only two or three years older than Miss Sloan. He had also forgotten that his senior year, Rooney had made almost as many trips to the principal's office as Don had himself- but only after Miss Sloane had been hired. Looking around Principal Rooney's office, Don noted the lack of family pictures. He also checked and was not surprised that Rooney did not wear a wedding ring. Sad, thought Don, that this man has lived the past twenty years with his obviously unrequited love for Miss Sloane. But, really, Don couldn't blame the principal for his desire- nor could he blame Miss Sloane for her lack of it.

Ward Rooney was anything but a great catch. He wore an expensive suit, but it hung wrong on his lanky frame. He did not look like he had put on any weight in the twenty years since Don had last seen him, but this was not a good thing. The man was just as boney as he had been when in his early twenties, his body screaming for the need for any sign of muscle. His arms and legs were just a little too long, while his hands were oversized. His head was large and extremely round, with the entire top covered with a toupee that was fit so well that Don only knew it was a toupee because, well, twenty years ago it had been more of a ill-fitted rug. The overall effect was almost like Boris Karloff, but not as attractive and without the personality.

As Rooney offered Don a chair, the principal sat back in his own leather office chair, behind his solid maple desk, subconsciously running his hands over several awards that sat on his desk, all the while eyeing his former student.

Don took off his glasses, relaxed in his chair, and then consciously ran his hands through his hair with enough force to make it clear that it was his own.

Rooney's hands stopped moving at the gesture, as he again scowled at Don.

"Well, _Agent_ Eppes, I am glad you were able to come to speak to some of our students today."

"Thank, you, sir," replied Don, "And I don't mean to correct you, but it's _Special Agent_ Eppes." Again, Don ran his fingers through his hair.

Rooney's right hand fluttered near his hair, as if checking to see if his toupee were on correctly. He lowered his hand when he saw Don's eyes were following his movement, then he straightened his tie and smiled at the agent.

"I have selected a small, lucky group of students to hear your speech today. I thought they would benefit the most- that they would relate to you more any of our other students. Of course, they may present you a challenge, but, you always liked challenges, didn't you?"

Don smiled.

"Always did- and still do- if my adversary is worthy. Don't think I've had a truly worthy opponent since middle school"- Don explained, making sure to place the time well before he had met Rooney, thereby denying he had ever been much of a challenge to him.

Rooney smiled in return.

"Well, then, you are overdue aren't you."

Rooney stood up, and Don followed. As they exited the principal's private office, Don noticed that Miss Sloane was now seated behind her desk in the outer office. Don went to stand near the outer office door, leaning against the doorjamb, waiting for further directions.

Rooney stood directly behind Miss Sloane, only inches from her back.

"Miss Sloane", Rooney directed loudly, "Please give _Special Agent_ Eppes the number of the room in which he will give his speech, as well as the list of students who will be attending."

Rooney looked at Don with a smug look on his face. Speaking in a loud whisper, the lanky man leaned over the right shoulder of Miss Sloan, saying suggestively, "After that, I would like you to come into my office- I have a _job_ for you to do." He was pleased to see the frown that crossed Don's face.

The tone and meaning of what Rooney had just said to her was not lost on Sloane. Angry, she took the paper with the room number and student names and crumbled it into a ball. She then tossed it at Don, purposely throwing it long, so it landed on the ground behind him. As he turned around and bent over to pick it up, he heard a loud whistle behind him. He turned quickly with paper in hand, and found himself looking into the smiling face of Miss Sloane.

"I remember your brother was great in mathematics, Donny," she said, giving the flustered agent _her_ most-wicked grin. "Let's see how well you do with numbers- 555-2323."

Don was always great with that kind of mathematics, and easily memorized her phone number. Before he turned to go, he looked one last time at Rooney, whose face was flush with anger and frustration.

Don simply smiled, and as he walked out the door, he once again ran his fingers through his hair, enjoying the sound of Miss Sloane's laughter accented by the sound of Rooney slamming his door.


	3. Influencing Minors

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or anything to do with the show.

Don looked at the number of the room written on the paper Miss Sloane had thrown past him. He rolled his eyes, as he noted it was the number of the old detention room. Well, he knew where that was, he thought, then headed quickly down the hall, as he realized it was almost time for the career day speeches to begin.

Entering his old detention hall digs, Don was struck with the feeling of nostalgia. Placing his sunglasses in his suit jacket, he evaluated the room and decided it did not look any different from the last time he had been there. A chalkboard covered the front wall of the room, with an old metal desk sitting in front of it. In neat rows ten deep, student desks combined with attached chairs lined up facing the chalkboard and desk. Looking to make sure no one was watching, Don tried to squeeze his solid frame into one of the seats. He was pleased that he just fit- but maybe a little too snug, as the edge of the desk pressed into his ribs. When he heard voices coming down the hall, he quickly tried to stand up, taking the desk with him.

Damn!

Just as a woman and five teenage boys entered the room, Don shoved the desk down and away from his body. All six people raised their eyebrows in surprise at the sight of the suited agent grappling with the desk, and then the small crashing noise it made as it finally released Don from its grip and fell to the floor. Straightening up, Don placed the desk upright, shook his shoulders out, and walked stiff-jointed to greet the visitors. He tried to ignore the increase of heat that he felt on his face, and the mutter of 'loser' from two of the teens.

"Hello," he said to the woman, holding out his right hand, "I'm Special Agent Don Eppes with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Are these young men my lucky audience today?"

The woman looked at the five boys who stood beside her.

Giving her attention back to Don, the woman introduced herself, sarcasm enrobing the words that she directed with equal venom to the agent and the five sullen boys.

"I'm Ms. Close, the_ lucky_ _teacher- in- charge_ to your _lucky_ audience. Why are _they_ so _lucky_? While the rest of the school population is in the gym to hear a _boring_ speech given by the personal appearance of- she named a famous baseball player- they have behaved _so well_ this past semester, we decided to _award_ them with a _personal appearance_ by _you_. After all, if the _past two years_ are indicators of _future accomplishments_, these boys are _bound_ to be involved with _law enforcement_ some time _soon_- though, I don't think they'll be part of the _positive end_ of the enforcing."

The English teacher then jerked her head towards the student desks, indicating for the boys to take seats, which they promptly did. With the boys settled, Ms. Close excused herself, explaining to Don that she was just going to run to the ladies room, but the agent suspected she would be heading to the gym and he wouldn't be seeing her for a while.

Left alone with the obviously angry and dejected teens, Don strode nervously to the chalkboard, his back to the students, looking for a piece of chalk. Finding a small one-inch scrap, he slowly wrote his name on the board, himself angry at the situation. He knew Rooney was responsible for this. The principal had insisted that there be no talk about guns or violence during his speech- "You know, after Columbine, we try to avoid that kind of talk". Don had reluctantly agreed, even though he knew that what was left of his career was boring paper and foot work. He had accepted the fact that the lecture he would be giving to his volunteer audience would be boring. Now, however, the restrictions on his speech and the fact that his audience was _not _volunteer had conspired to make Don the punishment for a group of totally disinterested captives.

He hoped the captives didn't revolt.

Turning around, Don surveyed the teenagers.

All of them wore jeans and T-shirts with different messages written on them. From "Don't Bother" to "What You Looking At", the words on the shirts easily confirmed the negative attitudes that fell dripping off the faces of the teens. Don was unconsciously aware that the students were a racial mix- two white, one black, and two Latino; when he had attended school, the student body had been entirely white. Don figured the changes in the make-up of this small group of students probably reflected the school as a whole, as the racial blend of the entire country was also changing.

All but one of the Latinos were taller than him, each one standing over six feet; the shortest one was actually quite tiny, probably only a few inches over five feet. Their bodies were solid muscle, but very lean, the only bulk they had coming from the layered shirts and thick jeans they wore. It would be difficult to guess any of their individual weights. Despite the hard looks that each teen wore, Don was glad to see there were no obvious signs of gang apparel- no colors were displayed, their jeans fit snugly at the waist, and none sported any kind of tattoo or jewelry. Their hair was worn short. All in all, they appeared neat and clean. If it weren't for the harsh angles of their limbs and torsos- coupled with the scowls that continually hung on their faces- Don would have labeled them the typical suburban kids of Hollywood and television.

Standing in front of the desk, Don began talking, explaining to the students who he was and about his job in the office. The students ignored him, looking around the room, some settling their eyes on the ceiling, obviously counting tiles. Two-hundred eighty-four, Don remembered, as he continued talking, aware of the disinterest of the students, trying to pass the time himself as he didn't want to be there any more than the teens. Just as he began the fascinating story of proper case report writing, a loud booming voice cut through his speech.

"Donny!"

Benny Cameron stood in the doorway of detention hall, filling the door from top to bottom, and side to side. He wore a white sweat suit and a big grin, entering the room to shake Don's hand so hard the agent's entire body shook, too.

"I can't believe it", Don yelped, pulling his former Dog into a bear hug.

Big mistake, as Benny wrapped his arms so tight around his friend that Don became dizzy from lack of oxygen.

Separating, Don and Benny eyed each other.

"Well, obviously Karma does not exist", Benny sighed, as he noted Don's excellent physique and thick waves of hair. He himself was completely bald.

Don grinned.

"I think that's what Rooney was thinking when I met with him earlier this morning", he replied.

Realizing that his buddy must be at the school for a reason, Don enquired as to his purpose.

"Why, Donny, I'm the football coach here- didn't ya know?" Benny beamed with pride.

Don beamed back, "No- I haven't been around here in twenty years, and I don't really read the high school sports pages anymore…But that's just great, just great…" Don's words trailed off, as he was a little jealous when he realized that his out-of-shape friend had a career in sports and he didn't.

"Well, I owe it all to you, Donny, and the rest of our crew. That stunt you pulled with the T-shirts and nicknames senior year- you wouldn't believe the confidence-booster that was for me. I thought I was gonna end up a burger-flipper for sure, but, man, after I became so popular senior year, so many people kept telling me to go for it, go to college. I just didn't think there was anything I couldn't do, not with all those people backing me. Now, here I am- over ten years of teaching under my belt and four regional titles- might even go to state this year."

"And I owe it all to the Detention Dogs", laughed Benny- "maybe, even, indirectly, to old Nipplehead Rooney".

Don laughed at hearing the principal's old nickname. Having spread it around himself, Detention Don had shown Rooney that the then-teacher wasn't the only one who could come up with nicknames. Unfortunately for Rooney, he had no friends to put a positive spin on that one.

At the mention of Rooney's name, five pairs of teenage eyes were suddenly wide open, staring at the two men reminiscing at the front of the room. Five bodies sat straight up in their chairs, as five pairs of ears opened, concentrating on the words of their phys ed teacher and the agent who had somehow become interesting.

Don and Benny kept laughing, updating each other on their current situations. Benny was married to his college sweetheart, and had three kids of various ages. He had started teaching before Rooney had become principal- he probably wouldn't have hired me, Benny pointed out- and, after winning regional when the school had not even won a single game in over five years, when Rooney _had _become principal, he was stuck with his former pain-in-the-ass.

The more the two adults talked about Rooney and their obvious adversity to him, the more the five captive teenagers leaned forward in attention. Finally, one of them raised his hand.

The tall Latino youth asked Don-

"You're Detention Don?"

Surprised to hear the teen speak his former nickname, Don turned to him and proudly declared, "YEP"- and your name is?"

"Jose, but my friends all call me Joey. They like to tease me that I'm like that guy on 'Friends', but" he said, glaring at the other boys- "I don't think I'm as smart".

His friends laughed congenially, as they knew he meant to say "I don't think I'm as dumb". As usual, the reason for his friends' laughter flew over Joey's head.

Next, the small Latino teen introduced himself and the rest of his friends. "I'm Miguel, this guy here"- he pointed to the blonde white teen- "is Adam", next pointed to the black teen, "Jeff" and finally, the remaining brown-headed white youth- "Ben".

Don smiled. "Well, now that we're all friends, you can just call me Don- you need not address me with the formal title 'detention'."

The teens smiled back.

"We've heard about you- a couple older teachers snicker about how Rooney thinks he's so hot, but they remembered when "Detention Don" put him in his place".

Benny and Don looked at each other, pride in their chests.

Miguel, with an angelic look on his face (yeah, we're talking 'and the Academy Award goes to'…) oh, so, innocently asked Don-

"You're a federal agent now- you didn't really do anything bad in high school, did you?"

Don, his ego bloated from Benny's gratitude, the interest of the teens, and the fact that people at his high school still remembered his name, forgot his FBI training and completely let his guard down. He sat on the edge of the desk, while Benny pulled up the teacher's chair, both men relaxing. Then Don and Benny started talking like suspects without lawyers- they gave too much information to the wrong people.

"When Rooney was hired here, we were juniors", Benny began, exchanging knowing glances and smiles with Don.

"We were really popular", Don said, Benny pleased that he had said 'we'- as he hadn't really been- "and Rooney was just too easy a target."

"So, we kinda took out all our frustrations on him", Benny explained, sounding a little too much like the educator he was.

"Yeah," Don continued, "our 'frustrations' included a long line of practical jokes."

"No way!", Ben declared, with mock disbelief masking a small smirk trying to climb onto his face, "what kind of jokes could you come up with back then- I mean, they must've been really lame."

"Yes, way", Don declared, trying to sound cool, "we got to school early for two weeks straight, playing a different prank every day. We just about drove Rooney crazy."

The raised eyebrows of the five teens coaxed the desired explanations from the two men.

"First thing we did, we put some fast-drying clay into the lock of his door. He couldn't get into his room- every one of his first few classes had to meet in the cafeteria while he was on his knees for three hours, using a screwdriver to chip away the clay, until finally he could get the key in to work", Don started the storytelling, relishing the rapt attention the teenagers were bestowing on him.

"Then we glued all the pages of his teacher books shut- he had to buy a new set cause he couldn't prove who'd done it", continued Benny, who did not use books himself, so he was oblivious to the danger of telling five of his students about this particular little escapade.

"We also did the usual- put ink on the arms of his chair, broke all his chalk, stole the ribbon from his typewriter, even got a hold of one of his sets of passes" Don thought back, trying to remember everything they'd done.

"I remember that," Benny contributed, "You were a pretty good forger, Don- remember how you wrote hall passes for all the kids in Rooney's classes with his signature on 'em? Man, the principal was sure mad when he saw how many passes he'd written- he must have screamed at Rooney for over an hour about how 'if you don't want kids in your class to teach, why'd you become a teacher?" I thought Rooney was gonna cry."

Don smiled at the memory, "Yeah, he always looked like he wanted to cry. What a wuss."

Ben raised his hand, challenging the two men's memories with "But how'd you do all that stuff without getting caught- someone had to see you?"

Don spoke in a conspiratorial whisper-"The cafeteria left its delivery doors open at 5:00am- we just took advantage of that and delivered ourselves through to Rooney's room."

The two men went on to tell the students about other stunts they had pulled on Rooney, including the Detention Dogs and how they had been formed in retaliation for Rooney's name calling. The teens nodded their heads in understanding, indicating that the principal had failed to drop the habit of nicknaming his students.

As Don and Benny started wrapping up their storytelling, Joey raised his hand.

"You never explained why you called Rooney 'Nipplehead'.

A smile absorbed the bottom of Don's face.

"Well, obviously, it's because he's balder than bald under that toupee of his."

All five teens shot upright in their seats, leaning forward eagerly.

"He wears a toupee!" they shouted, the volume of their voices forcing Don to lean back on the desk.

"Well, yeah, of course, though…" Don reflected for a moment, and then realized that Rooney's current toupee was a really good one- the agent had only known it for what it was because he had prior experience with the man. "When he first started here, he had a really bad toupee- man, it was just so obvious that the hair was fake and he was bald. The color didn't even match his eyebrows, and it just barely covered the top of his head. The word 'rug' was a justified description of it. "

A mischievous smile formed on Benny's lips, as he added to the story,

"Don told everyone it was a toupee, but nobody seemed to believe you could lose your hair when you were in your twenties." Benny rubbed the top of his head. "Some of us found out-later on- that you really could." Hesitating a moment, the phys ed teacher relished telling his students, "But Don proved us wrong senior year. He spent all year aiming paper airplanes at Rooney during detention, trying to knock it off."

"Over and over again", Don sighed, "but that thing was stuck on stronger than I thought. Until…" he stopped, scrutinizing the teens. Seeing his look, they suddenly struck idyllic poses, languidly sitting in their seats, paying attention but not apparently desperate to know. Satisfied, Don continued, "One day it hit me- I needed something that would help the airplanes have enough force to knock Rooney's hair off, cause the planes just kinda bounced off his head, that toupee moving some, but never enough so I could prove he was bald."

"What did you do?" asked Michael.

"It was really simple- I just put a piece of chewed up bubble-gum on the end of the plane. The weight of it helped guide the plane to 'hit the spot'; Rooney lost that toupee the first shot I took. When everyone saw how bald he was, I started calling him Nipplehead- and so did everybody else."

Everyone in the room laughed.

Just then, Ms. Close entered the room. She stopped short, angrily looking at the happy students reposing in their seats.

"Come on", she said, nodding her head in greeting to Benny but completely ignoring Don, "we need to get you back to class." She turned on her heel and left the room, waiting for her students just outside the door.

The five teens got up to follow, but first stopped to shake Don's hand, falsely promising to follow up on the requirements necessary to enter Quantico. They waved goodbye as they left the room, then quickly put their heads together when they began walking down the hallway, whispering amongst themselves as Ms. Close kept suspiciously glancing back at them.

"Now what are they up to?" she thought. She decided she didn't really want to know.

Don and Benny hugged a brief goodbye, promising to keep in contact with each other.

All in all, Don thought, that wasn't so bad- I think those kids even learned something.

They sure did.

They sure did.


	4. Rooney's Revenge

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or anything connected to it.

Author's note: Okay, I tried for funny. I guess I got more mushy. Hope you still like.

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Don stepped off the elevator at work, whistling quietly to himself. He had had his first- and not final- date with Ms. Sloane (Grace) the night before. The date had been a casual one at a small, intimate Italian eatery, the soft candle light hazing the signs of aging that had snuck up on them over the past twenty years. Between the ambient facial touch-up and the butterflies in his stomach, it had been easy for Don to believe he was an eighteen-year old again, out with the exacting simile of the secretary he remembered from his youth.

Life was good-

"Eppes- need to see you a minute". Merrick called Don from his fantasies.

Don stepped into the director's office, official posture and serious expression overcoming his body as he quickly tried to assess the situation.

Ward Rooney was sitting in a chair in front of Merrick's desk. He, too, sat in an official posture, a stern look overcoming his face when Don chose to stand to the left of Merrick's desk. Don's attempt of showing authority by standing while the principal sat was not lost on any of the men in the room.

"Please, Special Agent Eppes, take a seat", Merrick directed Don to a seat that was placed halfway between the director and Rooney, to the right of Merrick's desk. The positioning of the chair between the two men was not lost on Don, but he sat anyway, directing his attention to his boss.

**And the four large files on his desk, each bearing the name "Eppes, Donald Adam" in bold, black marker. **

Don recognized his disciplinary records from high school. He was confused, though, as he thought it was school policy to dispose of them when a student graduated. Ahhh, he thought, Rooney. He then flashed a look to the principal, who threw a less-than-professional grin back toward Don that only lasted a moment. With a little trepidation, Don looked toward Merrick, waiting as butterflies again filled his stomach- maybe they were more like moths, as they felt heavy and beat hard against his insides.

"You know", Merrick began to explain, sliding into his chair, then leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, "according to Principal Rooney here- you remember him, don't cha- some unusual things have happened at his school this past week- as a matter of fact, they seemed to have started exactly the Monday after career day- kinda weird, he thought, as the only two speakers he had were two highly _respectable professionals_" Merrick paused, looking pointedly at Don- "who had given talks about two highly _respectable fields_"- again the emphasis with his eyes- "so, it would seem something must have occurred that had _nothing to do_ with either of the speakers."

To the amusement of Rooney, Don could not help but to shift in his seat.

"However," Merrick continued, "Principal Rooney stated that he seemed to remember similar incidences happening at the school before- quick-drying cement in the doors of the school offices, paint placed on the arms of the office chairs, all the printer cartridges stolen from every computer in school over the past week- and fake hall passes (it seems the school has been blanketed with forged passes, with 50-100 kids roaming the hallways every hour, with every one of the students insisting that Rooney wrote his or her pass himself). Well, these things struck a memory chord with Rooney, as he thought, these occurrences were not unlike a series of events that happened at this same school years before- oh, maybe _twenty years ago- to be exact. _"

Don did not shift in his seat. He was absolutely immobile, the only movement on his body the sweat that started to seep into his hair.

"So," Merrick sat upright, talking low and hard to Don, "Principal Rooney decided to dig up all the old files from that year, and, _luckily,_ he was able to find the files of a former student who had been suspected of performing the same kind of, uh, pranks, during his junior high school year."

Merrick's voice volume started to rise with every sentence. "A former student who had a long case history of performing pranks throughout his _entire _high school years."

He now sat at the edge of his seat. "A former student who just happened to have been invited to give a lecture about THE FBI, AND NOT HIS FORMER HIGH SCHOOL HIJINKS".

Merrick was yelling now, throwing the nearest one of Don's files at him, catching the agent off guard as he tried to catch the papers, his failure resulting in a pile of papers all over himself and the floor.

Rooney could hardly contain himself- but he did.

Turning to Merrick, he stood up and shook the director's hand, all professionalism and seriousness, as he spoke to Don's boss.

"I am now positive that you will follow through with the disciplinary action that we agreed would be appropriate for Special Agent Eppes' _most_ _unbecoming_ _conduct_."

"Yes, yes", Merrick waved a hand in the air, "I am a man of my word."

With that, Rooney left the office, carrying Don's earlier whistle with him.

Don leaned over, grabbing papers and shoving them back into the file that lay in his lap.

When he was done, he boldly grabbed the other three files from Merrick's desk and deposited them all in the nearest trash can. Only then did he sit again to face the wrath of his boss.

Merrick shook his head.

"That guy really has it against you, Eppes- and from what I read in those files, I guess I can't blame him- that is, if this were twenty years ago- some people just never let go."

Don smiled, relaxing a little as the tone and volume of his boss' voice became friendly.

"I'm not just talking about _Rooney_ letting go, you know," Merrick looked at Don, hoping he was getting his point across. And he was. Don became embarrassed; he suddenly realized that within the few short hours of time that he had spent at his old high school, he had risked his career, the reputation of the job he loved, and had poorly influenced a group of minors to do things that put at risk their own futures- all for the sake of an immature and over-bloated ego.

"Sir, I am sorry at the position that I put the Bureau in, and that I would allow myself to be such a negative force upon those students. I am embarrassed and ashamed of myself and my actions."

"Well, Eppes, you should be. Rooney came in here threatening to sue us, take this to the press- but between that idiot principal and myself, we were able to agree on what he thought was 'a punishment to fit the crime.' So, he backed off of his threats."

Don responded with enthusiasm, "Well, I'll agree to anything- six months desk duty, an appropriate talk with those kids- hell, I'll even apologize to Rooney in front of-"

Don was cut short by a gruff 'hurumph' from Merrick.

"I said we agreed on a punishment that _Rooney_ thought fit the crime- if it was up to me, I'd just stick you on that desk duty. Got a lot of reports need writing up. However, if I want to avoid the scandal, the consequence must satisfy_ him_, not _me_, so you're stuck with what he thought up."

Listening to Merrick, Don realized the moths in his stomach had transformed into bats.

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_Don was eighteen again. The clock read 3:57. He had to be signed in to detention by 4:00 or he'd get another day for every minute he was late. He pushed past streams of teenagers going in the opposite direction- shoving a little harder than he meant to- everything around him becoming a blur- voices blended together- he was trying to be on time- because he knew Rooney would be watching- making sure that his nemesis would get the appropriate discipline for not arriving on time or doing the work he was given. Don was perspiring- his shirt clinging to his back- he tripped over the feet of a Freshman student- who glared at him, but reconsidered when he noticed Don's size. Freedom lay in the opposite direction, a path that Don could not take. He desperately needed to be on time, so he took the stairs two at a time, running down the hall to the assigned room. Don was out of breath when he pushed through the door to detention. _

_Just as he thought, Rooney was sitting behind his desk, watching the clock on the wall, smiling at Don as he rushed into the room, trying hard to get in more oxygen._

_The clock had just turned to 4:00 as he quickly signed his name on the paper in front of Rooney,- Special Agent Donald Eppes._

_With nervousness gripping every inch of his body, Don Eppes was eighteen again._

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Principal Ward Rooney smiled as his former student entered detention hall. Normally, he was not in charge of detention, as it was a position beneath his current status as head of the school; but he wouldn't-just couldn't- miss doling out the punishment he had gotten that idiot Merrick to agree to give to Donny Eppes.

Rooney was quite pleased with himself.

First, he would be embarrassing Donny Eppes in front of his peers; he was confident with the way office gossip was that it wouldn't be long before every FBI agent in Los Angeles knew that the 37-year old agent had been assigned one week of detention to be served at his old high school, the same punishment as the students to whom he had given his 'lecture'.

Second, he was having Eppes serve the detention with those same five students, so they would see what he himself had always known about Eppes- that, FBI Special Agent or not, the guy was irreparably a loser. Rooney was convinced that this knowledge would make the students change their minds about the attire they were currently proudly sporting. Rooney laughed in his head- he was sure they wouldn't wear it again.

To Principal Ward Rooney, life was good.

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After Don signed his name on the detention sheet, he took two worksheets with a list of words from Rooney, a pencil, and a dictionary. Merrick had made it clear- either he serve detention for two hours a day for a week, or he would be put on leave without pay, pending review. He could not be late- Rooney could add a day for each minute he was late. He also had to do the simple work the principal supplied on a daily basis- Don was sure it would probably be a week of looking up definitions, something not beyond his capabilities. Rooney could also add a day for unfinished work. Finally, Don had to behave. If he disrespected Rooney in any way, argued with him, made any cracks- so much as looked at the principal funny, Don was looking at another _week_. If it continued, he might be disciplined at work, as well.

When Merrick had recited the terms of the punishment, Don heard Rooney's words of twenty years before as a mocking curse reverberating in his head-

"At the rate you're going, you'll be serving detention well into your thirties."

For the first time in twenty years, the name Detention Don no longer made the agent feel proud of having won in a fight against a teacher who should never have gone into education.

In the end, Rooney had won- and he had gotten his revenge.

Don turned to walk down the nearest aisle, his head hanging low, when he noticed there were five other occupants in the room. To his dismay, there sat Joey, Adam, Miguel, Jeff and Ben. This was a nightmare for Don.

All five boys were smiling at Don, sitting up as far as their bodies allowed so they could proudly display that they were all wearing T-shirts that had "Detention Dawgs" written across the front in black permanent marker. Looking for the agent's approval, their faces became landscapes of confusion when they observed Don start walking down the aisle, his head looking at the ground, until he finally squeezed himself into a desk at the back of the room.

Realization crashed the students' looks of stupor, their faces and bodies all twisting down in their seats, the proud air that had previously puffed them up leaking from them as they whispered-

"He's how old and they can still give him detention?"

"I can't believe he still has to do what Rooney says."

And, almost in unison-

"Man, what a loser."

Don ignored the stares that the five boys threw his way. He chose, instead, to open the dictionary and try to concentrate on the work he had to finish. It was difficult, though, especially after he glanced up and saw that each boy had a list of their five names on the back of their shirts, also written in marker.

It didn't matter how long it had been since he was in high school- Don recognized that these boys did everything together, and probably meant everything to each other. Rooney was probably as hard as he could be on this mishmash group of boys, and they had struck out at the principal in protest- in Don's mind, probably with good reason. He remembered how badly Rooney had abused his authority as a teacher- how much more was he abusing his power now that he was principal?

And Don had let these boys down, cowing to the principal when they so wanted someone to understand how they felt- to understand that Ward Rooney was an ass but one in authority, so they had no other way to express their dislike (hatred) toward the man other than to cause him trouble. It was easy for Don to view this trouble-making as harmless, in this age when students shot their teachers over something as simple as receiving an undesired grade. After all, cartridges could be returned to printers, cement could be chipped out, passes could be gathered up- but the fragile ego of a young boy could never be repaired when someone like Rooney took his razor tongue to it.

The more Don sat and wrote, the angrier he became, frustration building as he knew he could feel the way he wanted to feel, but he could not act on it.

After an hour, a bathroom break was called. Don was careful not to go until the other five detainees had come back. When he got up to stretch his legs and take his break, Don noted that the Detention Dawgs had turned their shirts inside out – the teens' silent way of distancing themselves from the agent.

Don sighed, took his break, and sat down to work. Merrick had been right. There were times when people needed to let go. He just wasn't sure if this was one of those times…

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At a quarter to six, the detention hall was absolutely quiet. Six heads were peering with tired eyes towards books with writing that was starting to bleed across the page. Ward Rooney, principal extraordinaire, sat at the front of the class, reading a magazine, well-pleased with him self. Four more days of this, he thought, and those boys would be throwing wads of paper at Donny Eppes, calling him names under their breath, and trying to pull a few pranks on him when Rooney conveniently turned his back. He knew their anger would be better-placed if it were directed toward the man who had betrayed them, rather than the principal himself.

He had just turned the page in his magazine when he felt a fly land in his hair.

Reaching up, Rooney was surprised to feel a small paper airplane was somehow stuck in his hair, a squealed cry of of "What?" leaving his lips.

He quickly looked up.

So did the five teens in the room.

Seeing the plane stuck in Rooney's hair, five pairs of eyes followed the path that Rooney's took, to the back of the classroom, where one Special Agent Donald Eppes sat quietly working, his head tilted down as he continued to write definitions on the paper in front of him. Rooney was about to make an accusation against the agent, but realized that the edge of the other worksheet he had given him was sticking out of the dictionary he was using. The principal quickly shifted his gaze to the teens; he tried to stare the guilty student into confessing, but they all looked as confused as the principal himself.

The blank stares of the students were too much for Rooney. He stood up and tore the plane from his head, about to start yelling, when he realized too late why the plane had stayed so well within the lines of his hair.

A large wad of wet gum had been placed on the tip of the plane.

This same gum was adhered to his hair.

This same hair was not so adhered to his head.

To the entertainment and laugher of five teenage boys, Principal Ward Rooney pulled plane, gum, and expensive toupee off his head with one strong tug.

Glaring at the back of the classroom, anger and frustration flooded Rooney's body as he observed Don sitting in the back quietly ignoring all that was happening around him, his head still tilted downward as he continued to write.

Rooney swore loudly and violently as he stomped out of the room, toupee swinging in his right hand, slamming the door behind him, but not so loud he couldn't hear the cries of "Nipplehead" that echoed down the hall as he practically ran to his office.

The laughter in detention hall began to die down, then the five teenage boys began to ask each other, "You?" "No?" "You?" With each negative response, a sneaking suspicion came over each boy, as they nudged their chins to the back of the class.

"Now, that was smooth", Ben whispered, trying not to be heard by Don, wonder and awe in his voice as none of the boys were able to figure out how the agent had pulled it off.

At a suggestion from Miguel, the boys nodded at each other in agreement, turning their shirts right side out, and laying them out on their desks. Quickly, a marker was passed around as a sixth name was added to the list on the back of each shirt.

Don allowed himself a quick glance up, the flurry of activity of the teens in front of him catching his eyes. He was quite pleased with himself when he saw that the boys had not only put their shirts on correctly, but they had also written in letters twice the size of anything else on the shirt- the name Detention Don.

Suddenly, five pairs of eyes were staring at Don. Glancing at the door to make sure Rooney wasn't returning, Special Agent Donald Eppes lifted his head and stared back into the faces of the five teens, finally allowing a most-wicked grin to spread across his face.

And in return, the approving smiles of five future FBI agents beamed back at him.

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Okay, mush, mush. I haven't written **finished**, cause I decided I liked the idea of Don becoming a mentor to these boys. My summary for the next few chapters will run something along the lines of:--Don lets Ms. Sloane talk him into becoming a mentor for the Detention Dawgs, but does he get in over his head- literally- when he volunteers to sit in the dunking booth their group is assigned at Octoberfest. I figure if I blow that story idea, at least the idea of Don getting wet may distract people from that fact.


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